Strong Medicine and Spice
by emmbot
Summary: A series of one shots detailing the lives of Hisako Arato and Hayama Akira as they navigate their lives post-Totsuki in a world desperate to keep them apart. LATEST: Hayama has a cold and Hisako has the meds.
1. Chapter 1: Love's Not A Competition

**Love's Not a Competition (But I'm Winning)**

 **15:35 - Rebun Island, Japan - Before the Regiment de Cuisine  
**

She finds him in one of the test kitchens, hunched over boxes of ingredients from the finest seafoods to the greenest and crispest of produce. Chef Doujima had been kind enough (and _thankfully_ still wielded enough power within Tootsuki) to secure the rebel team several fully-equipped kitchens for the month.

Throughout the course of the past weeks, the rebel team had bled, cried, argued, and battled in these very kitchens, each pushing back in whatever way they could, straining against the bars and chains of the Azami administration. And while their hopes were placed on the shoulders of the eight who were to do battle in Rebun, she knew they each had their own personal battles to fight.

She'd be lying if she said she were one hundred percent over her most recent loss. _At least I'm not alone._

Alice and Kurokiba wear themselves thin one cooking battle at a time, each time getting just that one step closer to perfecting the recipes that had failed them before. Ikumi spends her days inspecting carcasses specially-delivered from her family's farm, sparing no expense in keeping her friends in ample supply of high-quality meat. Most days, she butchers them herself. The younger Aldini fusses over the elder. Yuki drags Marui out hunting in the nearby woods at each stop. Ibusaki and Sakaki argue over smoked tofu, the scent of almond and sesame and wood chips thick in the air.

When they aren't busy trying to figure out what the hell went wrong with their recipes, the rebels help The Eight. One culinary punching bag is better than none, and twelve are infinitely better than either.

She's still exhausted from spending the morning walking through basic Chinese roots – both for flavour and for health – with Tadokoro and Aldini the Elder. Which leads to her current state of surprise.

 _Shouldn't he be exhausted?_

"Oh, Arato." Hayama addresses her without even glancing up. "Can you help me pack these up?"

She glances down as he hands her a ripped-out notebook page, the lazy, messy scrawl denoting ingredients for several traditional Chinese dishes – Cantonese and Hainanese and Fujianese. "Kuga-san's expanding his territory, huh. And how did you even know it was me?"

Hayama barely smiles. "Agarwood. You have a pretty distinct scent, Arato."

"It wards against flus and colds." She flips her hair – it looks so much better when Erina does it. Still, she can't help but to feel pleased when Hayama turns her way, his sharp green eyes narrowing, and then warming a touch as he holds her gaze. "How're you still standing, anyway? Didn't Yukihira beat you up earlier?"

He scoffs, but she can sense the underlying layer of tension, bubbling just beneath the surface. Those of the 92nd generation _really_ hate to lose. "I went easy on him."

"Sure you did. The same way you went easy on me yesterday, right?" She grins at him, nudging his elbow with her own before striding towards the pantry. The memory of their match the day before warms her down to the very core. Revenge had come in the form of a second burger battle. She'd turned the tables on him with a fennel-filled lamb patty with all the necessary trimmings, which had led to a unanimous 3-0 from their elders, Professor Shiomi included. "Admit it, Hayama. I'm good."

"You're _better_."

"I'll take that." She runs the ingredients through in her head. Dried lotus flowers. Goji berries. Ginseng. Angelica root. Dried mushrooms and red dates. She closes her fingers around a bag of unshelled gingko nuts, then straightens, grunting in her attempt to balance the boxes, bags, and bundles. "Then again, I guess we can only get better from here on. They're going to be far beyond our league by the time Saiba-sama and Doujima-sama are done with them."

Hayama crosses his arms. His unamused expression makes her laugh. "I guess you'll be able to realise your life-long dream of being number two, then. With _ease_."

"Mmhmm. But that's okay." She shrugs a shoulder as she fills a box with Kuga-san's requested ingredients. The task comes easily enough – she's good at packing, and she enjoys it. _Packing tetris._ "You'll be right there with me, right? Third place?"

"Ha!" Hayama turns his head, and his laugh is genuine – hearty. He sounds like himself again - more like the Hayama from before, the Hayama who'd trash talk his opponents before an important competition, and who'd sigh, and yet resign himself to the antics of his self-proclaimed and newly-reclaimed friends. "You wish. Once this is over and done with, you and I are going to go again.

"Sure." She shoves the one remaining bag of dong quai into her box. "We'll destroy Central. Have a good meal. Sleep for a whole week - maybe a month. And then we'll go again."

Hayama picks up the largest of the boxes, sparing her a quick wink. "It's a date, then."

"Hey." She grabs his arm just as he's turning to leave. He arches a brow, the question prominent in the slight furrow in his forehead. She shakes her head. "Push me, alright? And I'll push you."

He smirks – cool as always – but when he dips his head at last to nod his assent, she notes the depth of his eyes. Honest. Open.

Determination burns within.

"Try and keep up, Arato."


	2. Chapter 2: On Truffles and Spice

**On Truffles and Spice**

 **15:20 - Totsuki, Japan - Second year  
**

Hayama Akira doesn't know when he'd first started watching his girlfriend cook (though if you'd asked Yukihira or Kurokiba, they'd tell you he's been pining after her _forever_ ). The glass panel between their adjoining test kitchens makes it easy enough; some days, she works on rare Chinese medicinal ingredients, most he's never even _heard_ of.

More often than not, however, Arato Hisako throws herself into the practice of cuisines she's not yet mastered, learning and cooking and reading.

She is, after all, a perfectionist.

Today, she's working with chocolate, a byproduct, he supposes, of yesterday's tangle with soon-to-graduate desserts-queen, third year Akanegakubo Momo. It had been a close fight, with two of the three judges leaning towards Akanegakubo's box of almond-covered amaretto truffles.

So of course Hisako would be folding and whipping furiously, magenta brow knitted in concentration.

He watches as she tempers the chocolate and cream, candy thermometer held steady in her small, but firm hands. At least six bowls sit around her work-surface, a variety of different fillings and coatings. Apricot. Freeze-dried berries. Coconut. Honeycomb. He lets out a soft chuckle. She's probably testing recipes to determine the reason for her defeat.

 _Which probably means_ …

"Get over here." Hisako's voice is muffled, but he can just make out her words through the walls. He grins; she jerks her head impatiently towards the door. "Come on, I spent all last week helping you perfect that tagine."

He tries for feigned indignance as he pushes through her door. "Didn't see you complaining _then_."

"Shut up." She's rolling a small round sphere of chocolate in a coating of flaked ginger when he siddles up to her. "Try this. I made it last night."

"Is that why you look like you haven't slept?"

She shoots him a look. "Just eat the damn truffle."

By all accounts, it's a well-made truffle. He's not much for sweets, but even he can appreciate when so much effort has been put into a single perfect morsel. The chocolate is well-tempered, creamy and smooth, bitter, and yet perfectly complemented by the sharp, sweet, and spicy jolt of ginger. "Bentong ginger?"

"A friend of my father's just got back from Malaysia. What do you think?"

He sucks on the insides of his mouth, then nods in thanks as she hands him a glass of water. "Not bad."

"Is that it?" She crosses her arms, clearly disappointed. "Can you taste the palm sugar?"

He swallows. "Yes. And the coconut, too. It's good, but it's still not as good as Akanegakubo's."

Hisako lets out a sigh, and he can't help but to feel a little guilty for putting that face on her. Still, she gives as good as she takes, and he knows _she can take a lot_.

Her response proves just as much. "I know."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something. What else did you work on?"

"Oh, this you'll like." A rogue-ish, slightly playful smile parts her lips. She waves a small jar in front of him, beautiful red flakes within. "Turkish Aleppo pepper. I made a chilli oil from it, and incorporated it into another batch of ganache."

He frowns at the jar. The labelling is all-too-familiar to him. "Isn't that—"

"It's not stealing if you were technically in the room when I took it."

He shakes his head. "You could've just asked. I'll ask Jun for an extra jar."

Hisako grins, then bends to retrieve another chocolate-filled piping bag from her chiller. "Thanks. Anyway, try this and tell me what you think."

The next chocolate she hands him is unasumming at best. Dark, glossy, peppered with just the smallest flecks of red. It tastes exactly as he'd imagined – smoky and sweet, with just the slightest hint of citrus.

"Hot."

She frowns. "Oh."

"Don't look so glum. It's not a bad kind of hot." He reaches over for the piping bag and makes another, careful to roll it into the perfect sphere. _Ganache. Coating. Peppers_. A quick glance through her seasoning rack yields the object of his search. He finishes off his truffle, then holds it up to her lips. "Try this."

"I already put salt in there." Hisako rolls her eyes, but eats the truffle off his fingers anyway. The frown upon her face upends as she chews. Half a second later, her cheeks are blooming a soft pink. "Oh, shit."

He can't help but be smug. "What do you think?"

She looks straight into his eyes. "Hot."

He doesn't bother to hide his amusement at Hisako's playful insinuation. Hayama Akira is full of himself, after all. " _Smoking_ hot."

She kisses him lightly on the lips. "Not quite yet. But I'll show you smoking hot later if you take me out to dinner."

He grins. "Bring the chocolates."


	3. Chapter 3: A Little Rivalry is Healthy

**A Little Rivalry is a Healthy Thing**

 **21:50 - Antwerp, Belgium - Four years post-Totsuki**

"Are you really okay with this?" Hisako takes a sip of her martini, frowning. There's a sea of reporters crowding their table at present, and she'd snuck away with Alice to get a drink – or rather, to get away from it all.

The blonde Nakiri shrugs, lighthearted as ever. "Why wouldn't I be? Ryou deserves all the attention he's getting, and it's not like it's making me any less successful."

"Right." She swirls her drink around its wide-rimmed cup, watching as the olive inside follows suit.

She'd arrived in Antwerp three hours ago with Akira, with just enough time to check into their hotel, shower, change, and jump into the Uber. Ryou was due for yet another accolade – the culinary world's version of the Pulitzer, the host had announced in his opening speech. It was Kurokiba's third award in as many years – Breakthrough Chef, Best Concept Restaurant, and now, Best in Restaurant Operations Efficiency.

Akira had wondered aloud if they'd made up that award just for him. Now, looking at the amount of press coverage Ryou's appearance has garnered the event, Hisako is inclined to agree.

"Is Hayama really okay with this, though?" It's Alice's turn to slant a sidelong smile at her, the expression upon her face at once knowing and smug. "If I know anything about that little shit, I know he's not going to stay put for long."

She can't help but to scowl at the blonde. As dense as Alice could be at the best of times, she could also be strangely perceptive.

"We're trying to make it work." Her answer comes out a little clipped. "Once I finish up my year at Harvard, we'll be free to go where he wants."

Alice raises a brow. "I thought you wanted to continue on. Get your PhD. Or is that no longer in the cards?"

She downs her martini and motions to the bartender to make another. It's her fourth of the night, but their hotel isn't too far away and she kind of likes the way her boyfriend becomes extra-attentive when she's even the slightest bit inebriated. "I do. I did. But he gave up Gaggan and Bangkok for me, and now it's my turn to give up something for him."

"Well…" Alice looks down and purses her lips, clearly testing the waters. "There's another option. Stay where you are and let him go."

"What would you have said to anyone who dared suggest that to you?"

"I'd have told them to fuck off." Alice grins.

She's about to respond, but a passing reporter holds up his camera, and the blonde, ever-ready for a photo op, grabs her by the shoulder, poses (chests out and eyes bright!), and sends the lad on his way a little dazed and more than a little charmed.

"So, fuck off then." She glances back at Alice, and can't help but smile when the blonde laughs.

"I'm just saying, Hishoko – you don't want to be responsible for holding one another back. The whole glued-at-the-hip thing may work with Ryou and me, but our dynamic's been like that since we were kids. We push one another, we always have."

She feels her throat tighten. "We push each other too. That was the promise." The insistent tone of her voice comes off more pathetic than she'd thought, but it can't hurt to try – even if Alice will see right through it.

And see right through it she does. "Of course." There's a touch of pity in her voice. "But sometimes that isn't enough, is it?"

She watches as Alice is pulled away for more pictures, slightly aghast. Akira waves at her across the room, and his smile, at first slightly forced amongst reporters and videographers warms. She doesn't know how it had happened, with him being the cockiest bastard of the 92nd generation and all – but somehow, she's got him wrapped around her finger.

And it pains her to no end that Alice might just be right, after all. That she isn't enough for him right now, that she's not what he needs to be the great chef he was meant to be, no matter what they try to tell themselves at night.

So she downs her martini and makes for her boyfriend's side. And when he raises his brow in question, somewhat confused and somewhat concerned, she shushes him with a kiss. And all the while, in her mind, the words repeat themselves: _let me have him just a little bit longer._


	4. Chapter 4: Night Blooms

**Night Blooms**

 **17:45 - Los Angeles, California - Thirteen years post-Totsuki  
**

It's been years since she'd last seen her ex boyfriend, but there Hayama Akira is anyway, bronzed and beautiful, covered in a mixture of sand and sea. His hair is loose, and she can see where she stands that he's been in the water, the silvery tendrils windswept and slightly coarse, painting him the perfect picture of a surfer fresh from sea.

His physique more than helps him along in that respect.

"Hisako." He looks a little surprised at her presence, but his smile is bright, showing off his straight white teeth. "How've you been?"

She smiles, and hopes it doesn't come off overly awkward. Truth be told, she's still reeling from the shock of seeing him again.

That, and the fact that she's newly-single, the ring that had once sat on her engagement finger now packed away among boxes in her brand-new beachside apartment. California was meant to be her fresh start.

 _So much for moving forward._

"Well enough. Are you here on holiday?" A cursory glance tells her all she needs to know – that he's well, and that he's done as she'd requested the cold, rainy night of their final goodbye. She knows (through the occasional Facebook scroll-through) that he's more than made something of himself; he's happy, he's cooking, he's perfectly successful and well-able to finance and support the endeavours of the Shiomi lab.

If he has a wife, he's kept it well under wraps.

"I live here now." Flicking his hair casually, Akira jerks his head towards the beachside bar. "Come have a drink with me and we'll talk."

Hours later, they're well into their sixth bottle of Italian red. They've laughed, they've cried, and they've argued over the littlest and most insignificant details of their long-term romance and eventual break-up. She learns about Hayama Akira: 30, recently divorced, successful business owner and restaurateur, and apparently very much still into her.

"I really did think you were gonna marry that fellow, you know." Akira's tolerance for alcohol has always been stronger than hers, and they've done well to pace themselves. She's glad for it – she doesn't think his agent (or her restaurant's PR, for that matter) would appreciate their making the headlines tomorrow for all the wrong reasons.

She shrugs a shoulder as she chews her calamari. "Something snapped, I guess. He was what I wanted." A pause. Her heart thumps heavily within her chest. "Maybe he wasn't what I needed."

Akira's smile turns soft. He shakes his head, leaning forward, just a little closer to her. It's barely midnight, and the college kids on spring break are in full party mode. Still, they're pretty far removed in their corner booth, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss him, or his touch, or his kisses and the taste of him.

So she doesn't fight back when he kisses her. Instead, she melts.

Later, when they're laying tangled together in bed, she wonders whether she had ever felt this much at home in her ex's arms. Akira runs his fingers feather-light along the curves of her bare, slender back. The soft breaths that accompany his kisses follow suit. He whispers against her skin, and she can just make out the sentiment that warms her heart in the darkness of the night.

"Are you drawing?" She asks.

He chuckles, and the doodling commences. A circle. Petals. Leaves. It's a habit from days long past, saved exclusively for mornings where they'd had enough time to cuddle in bed. The motions are familiar as before. "Can you guess what this is?"

She snuggles deeper into his pillow, taking in the scent of it – cinnamon and applespice. "Chrysanthemum. Next."

Longer petals. A distinctive heart. Over and over the finger drags, and as it comes up, so too does her appetite, again.

"Lily."

"You're still very good at this." Akira kisses the crook between her neck and shoulder before settling in closer behind her, his warmth and hardness pressing against her back. Still, the man continues in his endeavours.

A stem, she thinks at first. And then another. A circle. More stems. It takes her a few short seconds to understand what he's trying to say.

It's not a flower. It's three words, and she knows exactly what they are. After all, it's what she's known for over a decade.

So when he finishes, she turns her head around to meet his eyes. "I know," She says. "And I love you too."


	5. Chapter 5: Never Enough

**Never Enough**

 **05:13 – Moscow, Russia – Six years after graduation**

Hayama Akira is physically exhausted. Hours have passed since he'd first collapsed face-first into bed, and though he's dulled his mind and senses with far too much bourbon and not nearly enough food, he's wide awake. He's not entirely sure what time it is, but he's generally an early riser, and the day's familiar first lights – soft, orange-pink hues and fading denim blue – have already begun to filter across the morning sky.

His head is still spinning, and there's a persistent cacophonous drum solo going off in the space between his eyes. If there's a way to feel sound, he thinks he's more than figured it out.

He doesn't know why, but his hands find his phone by his bed. Stuck at a meagre seven percent battery life, another inconvenience he'll have to deal with in the coming day. He takes a deep breath, then shuts his eyes and taps in the number.

It takes everything in him to not break down when he hears her voice.

"Akira? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just—" He forces himself to breathe, but it's too late. By now, Hisako will have noticed the tremor in his voice, and the hesitation that had preceded his response. He wonders if she's home already, safe in the arms of _the other man_ , whose name he can't be bothered to remember. The thought brings fresh tears to his eyes, and he wipes them away angrily, swallowing in an attempt to clear the lump in his throat. "I just needed to hear your voice."

Hisako is quiet just then, and he can just see it if he closes his eyes – her maroon brows furrowed in worry, and her eyes soft with empathy. It's not often that Arato Hisako is soft – after all, she's a firm believer in tough love – but then again, he thinks, he's only ever cried in front of her _that one other time_.

 _I miss you_ , he thinks. In his mind, she responds with three other words.

"I'm here," She says instead. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He lets out a breath. "I found my mother. Or, I guess... she found me."

A mug or a cup of some sort is lowered onto a table. He can barely hear Hisako breathe. But if there's anything his ex is good at, it's keeping a level head in even the toughest of situations.

"I'm sorry," He manages to get out the words, forearms tensing as he clenches his fists. "I didn't know who else to call."

Hisako responds without missing a beat. "No, I'm glad you called. Are you gonna see her?"

"She left me in the slums. Apparently she had a change of heart a few years back, but I was long gone."

"Around the time you started making a name for yourself, you mean?" Hisako's voice sharpens, and he almost flinches at the brutal honesty in both her tone and her words. "Is it legit?"

He swallows. "The PI says yes. We still need to get it verified medically, though – if we do, anyway." The pounding in his head intensifies as he gnashes his teeth together. "I just don't know what to do."

"You do," Hisako lowers her voice, and he's relieved to hear the sharpness dissipate. "You're already doing it. Does Jun know?"

"I don't know how to tell her."

She chuckles, the sound of it warming him to the core. "Akira, you know – whatever you decide, whether or not you want your birth mother in your life, Jun's no less your family. I'm sure she'd agree."

And she would. Hisako has always known – better than him, sometimes, exactly what Jun would say to him in situations like these. Despite the bitterness of their break-up, Hisako knows _him_ best.

He breaks the silence first. "Are you happy?"

The woman on the other end hesitates. He can hear the smile in the following sigh – a soft, sad little thing. It's been two years. She's seeing someone new, and he's had multiple flings, since.

None of them compare.

"I'm okay, Akira." Another pause. "Are you? Happy?"

He opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, wondering how many aspirin he's going to need to get him through the day. "I'm okay," he manages to say, before the phone goes dead. He sighs, forcing himself to sit up to plug in the charger, and makes a mental note to text her later when he's at work.

Later, beneath a steady stream of hot water in the shower, he wonders if there has ever been a time where Hisako hadn't been _enough_. Back then, the money and stars and fame had seemed so important. He'd chased them then, and in doing so, had lost the one thing he's sure he's ever truly needed.

 _And you weren't enough for her, neither._

He shuts his eyes, leaning forward to press his forehead to the slick, cold tile. The water grows colder.

 _It's too late,_ the mind whispers. _This is your lot in life – never satisfied, and yet never enough._

And as the sun rises in full to light his room, he sinks onto his knees and weeps for his failures.

* * *

 **A/N** \- Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favs, you guys!


	6. Chapter 6: All You Gotta Do (Is Say Yes)

**A/N -** I've changed the rating of this fic from T to M; this chapter reflects why. Some wholesome Ryoali + Hayama OT3 shenanigans, and later, something a little more provocative. ;) I love the combination of Alice, Ryo, Hayama, and Hisako, though - they're pretty interesting as a whole, and I like to think they're all open and secure enough in their marriages to play a little.

 **All you gotta do (is say yes)**

 **04:02 – Denmark – Seven years post graduation**

The gin burns his throat, but Hayama Akira slides his empty shotglass back across the calacatta marble countertop anyway, straight into the waiting hands of Ryo, who, at present, is nursing his eighth beer of the night. "One more."

"You should pace yourself," Ryo tells him, but pours him out another measure anyway.

He'd arrived in Denmark five hours ago, fresh from Massachusettes, en-route to Moscow, and reeling from the stark realisaton that it was all truly over with Hisako. It hadn't been in his plans to stay, but Alice had insisted he catch up with them for at least a couple of days, and so there he was: half in the bottle in the couple's swanky city apartment, missing his ex-girlfriend and growing increasingly anxious over his current state of affairs.

A new life. A new home. A new world. He doesn't know how he's to face the day knowing she's a world and then some apart.

"You have that face on you again," comes Alice's drawl from across the room. The blonde is still in her sequinned dress from their evening (and early morning) at the club, gold and red glittering across her breasts and shoulders. "Ryo, tell him to stop moping."

Ryo slides the shotglass back. "Stop moping. And anyway, you're going to feel like shit in the morning, so you might as well enjoy yourself right now."

He throws back the contents of his glass, then turns his barstool around and flops back. The cold marble against his skin sends shivers down his spine, but he's too tired to move and the world is spinning. The lights seem to dim around him, each individual bulb in the overhanging pendant lampshades appearing almost dream-like; soft pinks and neutral browns melding together to form clouds amidst a softly-darkening sky.

He'd watched a similar sunset with Hisako once from a quiet vantage point in the hills. A long weekend on their own, with not a care in the world but the joy of one another. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember the feel of her skin, the scrabbling of nails against moss and bark, her moans in his ears and the warmth of her around him.

The warmth of weight settles upon his thighs, and his loins tighten in desire. But it's a pair of bright red orbs that greet him when he opens his eyes, and only Alice who stradles his thighs, her tight miniskirt pulled all the way to her waist to accommodate her spread legs. He hisses as she bounces lightly, reaching out to clench his fists around her shoulders.

The bouncing abruptly stops, but then her hands are on his chest, her drunken giggles filling the room as she leans over him, feathery blonde tips brushing his adam's apple. "Hayama, come on. We're going to bed."

"I thought we'd agreed last time was a _one-time_ thing." Despite his words, he can't help but to let out a faint grunt, halfway between a moan and a groan as the platinum blonde kisses his neck, her hands sliding under his shirt. A cursory glance aside shows Ryo already shirtless, a smirk on his face and darkness in his eyes. The man's gaze burns, tightening the coils in his stomach in a way he suspects has nothing at all to do with the fact that Alice's hand has moved southwards. _Oh, fuck._

"It's up to you," Alice nibbles at his ear, and her damned hand squeezes, drawing a sharp breath from him. Then she straightens, ruby lipstick smeared across her mouth and a smug and knowing look in her eyes. "Whatever it is, I sure as hell am getting fucked tonight."

Ryo's hands curl around his shoulders from behind, snaking in beneath the collar of his shirt. He tenses as the digits rake along his skin, the sensation feeding his arousal. The man's voice is hoarse, but not without its own modicum of restraint. "How much longer are you going to pretend you're not already imagining yourself between us? Say yes."

And as he breathes the word like a prayer to the night, the two take him by the hands, and as one lead him to their bed.

* * *

 **08:40 – Denmark – Fourteen years post graduation**

He sees red when he opens his eyes. Panic surges and he barely has time to register that it's Hisako in his arms before her eyes flick open. She smiles blearily up at him, and it occurs to him then that he'd only been dreaming after all.

"Good morning," She mouths, a little pink in the face.

Across the California King bed, Alice and Ryo's prone and naked forms are swathed in a plethora of sheets, draped over one another as they often are. Last night's excesses come rushing back to him – the four of them had been attending a gala in town, and had retreated back to the Nakiri-Kurokiba home sometime in the early hours of the morning. One thing had led to another – as it had the last time the four of them were together.

All in all, he thinks it's quite apt that his subconscious had chosen _that_ particular evening from years and years ago to dredge up after all, if only in a dream.

"Good morning," He leans over, his forehead meeting hers. Alice mumbles something about burgers and cheese in her sleep, causing Hisako to let out a chuckle. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough. I'm starting to think the three of you have had way more experience at this than I know of."

He brushes her hair gently from her face. "We've had some encounters. Mostly after we broke up, that time." He pauses to gauge his ex-girlfriend and now-wife's face. "I trust them with my life."

"And I do too," Hisako tells him. "But I really have to rethink letting you three manhandle me that way again."

He grins. "Admit it – you love it."

Hisako quirks a cheeky grin. "I love it," She agrees. "And I love you."

"If the two of you are done being domestic and lovey-dovey," Ryo's voice, abeit laced with sleep, fills the room with ease. "Shall we wake Alice together?"

* * *

 **A/N** \- Thanks for the reviews, follows, faves, and so on, guys! I really appreciate it! :)


	7. Chapter 7: Something So Tender

**Something So Tender**

 **08:12 – Totsuki – Second year**

Hayama Akira feels like shit. His throat is thick with gluey phlegm, and his voice has all but disappeared. Every once in a while, a strong gust of wind blows in from the cracks between his windows, and it's then he thinks the world is surely going to end. The thermometer registers at an agitatingly borderline 38 degrees Celcius and his coffee tastes like sewage. Worst of all is the fact that he just can't seem to smell a damn thing.

It makes him feel so pedestrian. So common.

So very helpless.

Jun is away on business in China, so by the time 4PM rolls around, his stomach is growling. His Elite 10 papers have been open at the same page for hours, and his cup of cereal milk unappetisingly cold. Too tired to cook, he tugs his blanket closer, then trudges over to his bed and collapses face-first into the pillows.

It's just as he's getting comfortable that the doorbell rings, dragging him back from the comfortable blackness of half-consciousness and straight into the hellpit of reality. _Fuck._

He lays there a while, contemplating the consequences of just leaving it be. Jun hadn't mentioned anything about their investors dropping in – but then again, the woman has an irritating way of forgetting to tell him when they're expecting company, so he's only about 50% sure it isn't anyone of any importance. He's just deciding to fuck it all, when his phone buzzes, and Arato Hisako's face flashes on the screen.

"What?" He can barely hear himself over the sandpaper in his vocal chords.

There's a long pause on the other end that he thinks corresponds with Arato's thought process. Then comes her voice, brusque, and yet betraying just a hint of concern. "Are you sick?"

"No," He groans into his phone. Every ounce of logic in him is aware she'll see through his bullshit, but the idea of looking weak in front of her makes him vastly uncomfortable in a way he hates. "Just very tired. What d'you want?"

"Are you done with the new research society and seminar formation regulations? I've got a trip coming up this weekend, so I was hoping to get my part done before then."

He glances blearily across his room. The papers are still strewn over his desk, but he's having trouble remembering their contents, or if he'd even read them at all. "You can take them first, but would it be possible for you to pick them up later?"

"I'm outside. No one's answering."

 _Fuuuuuuuck._

"There's a spare key under the aloe vera pot, and my room is the third room to the left down the corridor. Come on in."

He hears the unmistakeable sounds of her rummaging, terracotta pots shfiting as she digs through the plants in the yard. The front door opens, then closes, and footsteps sound in his home, echoing over plain tile floors. "Where in your room are the papers? And aren't you afraid I'm gonna poke around, read your diary?"

"Unlikely," He tells her, just as she walks into his room, wearing a light, soft-green sundress. Despite the haze of sickness clouding his eyes and his mind, he can't help but to think just how pretty she looks. "Hi," He manages to get out, grinning weakly as he swipes across his phone to end the call. "The papers are on the table. Take them and go."

"The hell, Hayama?" Arato tosses aside her hat and sunglasses, then strides across the room with zero caution. Her hand is cold, but it feels good against the fever-red flesh of his forehead. "Shit, you're hot."

He braces himself for her reaction, then winks. "I know."

"Die, will you?"

"You're gonna feel like shit if I do, and in this condition, I just might."

Arato sighs, a weary, long-suffering sound that speaks volumes of exasperation and irritation. He wonders if the fever has anything at all to do with how cute he thinks it is. "What's wrong with you? Don't you have meds?"

"Too tired to go out." He pokes a hand out from under his blanket and points to his desk. "I'll be fine, Arato. Take the papers and get out before you catch this."

"Please. We Arato folk have immune systems of steel." Arato rolls her eyes, sliding off her jacket and draping it over the back of his chair. Two crossed straps streak across her back, framing her shoulderblades as she turns her back to him to check the papers. "You haven't even made a dent in this."

He tugs his blankets up to his nose and peers at her across the room. "I'll catch up, I promise. Just take them and do your part first."

She sighs. He can practically see the gears clicking in her head, her tea-coloured eyes narrowing as she looks him over. It's bold of him to assume that she cares at all – but then she sets down the papers, ties her hair back with the rose-gold band around her wrist, and strides towards the door. "I'm going to go make you something to eat, and then you'll sleep."

"Arato, wait—"

She levels him with a steely glare. It's more than enough to shut him up.

An hour later, she presents him with a bowl of herbal chicken noodle soup. Red dates and wolfberries dot the thin broth in red, and he can recognise two or three other herbs –Solomon's seal and Chinese angelica and Astragalus. There's a bitter taste to it all, but there's plenty of flavour, and as he sits in bed, bowl in hands and steam rising to warm his cheeks, he considers the implications of Arato's kindness, and wonders why she's there at all.

"So," He breaks the silence, glancing her way. "Where are you heading for the weekend?"

"Seoul." Arato doesn't even bother to look at him; glasses on and pencil in hand, she's been wearing her serious business face for about twenty minutes. "I've been looking into Korean red ginseng tea, so it seemed right to look there. Anyway, I cancelled my flight while you were out."

He chokes. "What?"

"You look like shit." She turns around in her seat, squinting at him through her glasses. "And I don't think this work is going to do itself. I'll go another time."

"Arato," He sets down his empty bowl, then leans forward, peering at her. "I'm feeling better, really. I can handle myself – I've done so since I was a kid. You really don't have to."

"There's nothing but dried spices and a jar of chutney in your fridge," She snaps, tossing her hair back and turning away. "Alice stopped by earlier, so I got her to bring some ingredients, but hell if that means you've done well _handling_ yourself. I know you think you're some kind of Olympian god, what with your superhuman nose, and maybe you _are_ better than us mere mortals, but that doesn't mean you can work yourself to the bone and not catch your death."

There's a loud ringing in his ears that corresponds to the feeling of being punched – and he recognises the sentiment well enough. Concern from a loved one. When Jun had gotten mad, it had been with the fervour of an anxious parental figure.

He can't quite put his finger on it, but it feels different with Arato.

"Sorry," He mumbles, a little embarrassed. And really, he does feel a little better; the pasty, muggy gunk in his throat from before has dissolved, and he thinks he can make out the scent of Arato's perfume from across the room – a musky, citrus scent. It's a definite improvement. _She did that_. "I guess I'm just not used to having… someone around."

Arato huffs loudly, and for several long moments, he's treated to the sound of silence, punctuated by the sharp scraping of pencil on paper. After, she turns around to meet his eyes, irritation in her face and exasperation in her eyes. But there's also something like warmth – kindness and a specific brand of tough love he's come to recognise as Arato's way of showing affection.

"Well, get used to it."

He grins, and hopes it doesn't come off too embarrasingly stupid. When Arato raises her brows at him, he raises his hands, and backs into his pillows. "Thanks, Arato. I really appreciate this."

* * *

 **A/N -** Thanks for the faves, comments, and whatnot, people! Enjoy!


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